SHANGYIN ADDICTED AKA HEROIN SOOMPI FAMILY

Untitled (Crimson and White) Part 18

Closing the hotel room door behind him, WeiZhou leaned his back against it, eyes closed. He was exhausted - physically, mentally, emotionally. He should feel satisfied. The concert had gone well. Not perfect, but well. No major issues or mistakes. He should be happy. Rubbing the back of his neck, WeiZhou tried to understand his own mind. This was something he had dreamed about for years, it had finally happened. Why then did he feel so discontent?

Catching his fingers on the back of his shirt, WeiZhou slid his hand along the starched collar towards his throat, suddenly needing to be free of the stiff cloth. It had been irritating his neck for some time now, throughout the post-concert interviews and the time it took to get back to the hotel. When his fingers brushed along his collar bone, his breath caught with the one word that floated through his mind, and body. "JingYu."

WeiZhou groaned as his fingers kept tracing, back and forth, at the base of his throat. As much as he hated to admit it, that was what was wrong. JingYu wasn't able to be at the concert. They had both agreed, they had both known, that it was too big of a risk for JingYu to be there. That knowledge did not make it any easier for WeiZhou, though. Of course he wanted JingYu to be there, to see him perform. To be there, waiting for him backstage when the concert was over. To be there, back in the dressing room with him to celebrate. Just to be there.

But he hadn't been, and it was over, and what was done was done. WeiZhou tried to comfort himself with the thought that at least he would be able to see the man he loved tomorrow. It wouldn't be the same, of course, but at least he would be able to see JingYu. He began unbuttoning his shirt as he tried to remember why Jie jie had insisted he stay in a hotel tonight. Something about fans and reporters was it?

WeiZhou took a couple of steps before opening his eyes, only to have his steps stop abruptly, as did the fingers on the buttons of his shirt. Standing before the window, looking out across the brightly lit city skyline, a back covered in a deep red hue fixed itself in WeiZhou's eye. Arms crossed in front pulled the rich material tightly along shoulders and back, defining muscles and bone all the way down to where it was tucked into a pair of fitted jeans. WeiZhou's breath caught in his chest as his peripheral vision caught the flash of a smile in the reflection on the window. He forced himself to look to the reflection. JingYu, smiling brightly, his eyes trained to the side of his own reflection, staring at the reflection of WeiZhou standing behind him.

"JingYu?! What..."

JingYu turned around slowly, his arms falling to his sides. The two men stared at each other for a long moment, both drinking in the living, breathing sight before him. WeiZhou tried to speak, but only his lips moved, nothing came out. They had been together just last week, but it had been days since they had been in the same room together, much less alone. Now those days seemed like years to WeiZhou as JingYu slowly strode toward him.

"You were magnificent. You were born for the stage, you know."

"You were there?!" WeiZhou gasped.

"Up in the balcony. Not the best seats, but at least I got to see you." JingYu's hand reached out to WeiZhou's jaw as he stopped before him.

"But how..."

"Later." JingYu's hand left WeiZhou's face, trailing down the open edge of WeiZhou's white shirt. WeiZhou himself was in a trance staring at JingYu's chest. There was something about the deep red of his shirt that added definition and depth to the movements of the body it covered. And, as the window had reflected their faces to each other moments before, JingYu's shirt reflected the fire that had sprung up in WeiZhou the moment he saw him.

Even as JingYu continued to tease at the edges of the half unbuttoned shirt, his eyes caressed every inch of face and skin they could touch. JingYu took a long moment to drink in the sight of smooth skin stretched over taut muscle, half hidden behind the crisp white fabric. "God, Zhou," he moaned, "do you have any idea what you do to me?"